


Crossing lines

by orphan_account



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Abuse, All Star Batman & Robin The Boy Wonder, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, Flexible Dick Grayson, Fucked Up, It's generally a really bad time for everyone, M/M, Mild Foot Fetish, Mind Games, Sparring, ish, no more tags needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bruce understands, he went through the same thing. Maybe, just maybe, this will work out. Hope pricks at his skin like heat coming back to frozen fingers. Wayne could help maybe, solve the case, maybe he’d never have to see Batman again.He’s pulled back into a hug.Dick Grayson tenses, shoulders bunching and hands up in some stilted form of surrender and then, in his hair, the side away from the camera’s.“Put your goddamn arms around me or I’ll break them, Punk”And just like that the whole world shatters for the third time in 48 hours.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 97





	Crossing lines

**Author's Note:**

> So this is very messy. It's basically all my thoughts about all star put onto page...whether they should be on page is another question. I didn't like it. It's very beautiful but completely mental but I needed to work through my thoughts after I found the annual on my boyfriends floor and decided to give it a go to see what all the hate was about. I understand why it was buried under his bed. 
> 
> I get the hate. I'm late to it. 
> 
> I really tried to redeem Bruce in some ways here. He doesn't deserve it. 
> 
> This fic is very truthful to the comic in that it's confused, badly written, deeply unsettling, so in a lot of ways, I'm being very faithful?

“ **GO** to the hospital? What, will you drop me off?” 

“You just have to say I saved your skinny ass and let you go. Tell everyone everything is okay” 

Batman’s voice still sounds like it’s being whispered into his ear, even though he’s halfway across the room. The bats squeak, the air chills his lycra uniform, a little crusty from the blood. He shudders violently. Exhaustion is setting in fast, the adrenaline is wearing off, the grief is setting in.

Dick rubs his knuckles and plops himself down on the huge leather chair, using the console to spin himself as he considers it. Nothing is okay, his stomach is growling, his mouth taste like vomit, his parents just died, the goddamn Batman just called him a retard. It was a bad Saturday. 

“This is a dumb plan” 

The chair turns violently, suddenly he’s bracketed between forearms the size of his thighs and hard leather. Those white eyes, impossible to read, inches from his face. He has to stop himself from yelping like a baby. 

“Is it now?” 

That stupid voice. 

“You’ll go, you’ll talk to the press. Right now It looks bad, they’re are making it out like I threw you into my car-” 

“You DID-” 

The backhand sends him crashing off the chair. The landing hurts his shoulder but it’s more the shock that makes him scramble back in fear. 

Batman regards him for a moment, as though he has something to say but settles on; 

“Get in the car” 

  
  
  


They pop an IV in his arm. He doesn’t realise he’s shaking so violently until he sees the stillness of the nurses hands. Everyone is looking at him. Doctors, social workers, god it’s too much. The heavy lights make him squint, the constant questions are unanswerable. He’s not sure what he  _ can _ say and he’s terrified of the consequences. . 

There are police again, different cops to the ones that took him that first night -last night? Two nights ago? - he loses track of time.

That happens when your whole world falls apart sometimes. 

“And what happened after that?” 

A policewoman is taking his statement. 

“After...He blew through the car and he picked me up by the top -” 

He watches their winces carefully. He’s screwing this up. 

“A-and then he put me back down and-and gave me a pat on the head for being so brave” 

He’s tearing up at his own lies. He hates this, god he hates this. He hates Batman, he hates him so much it makes his fucking stomach turn. Hates him so much he can’t get through the layers of clawing anger and resentment to even think about what’s really happening here;

He’s lost everything. His parents are gone, the circus spooked and left Gotham before the police could even investigate and they left him behind and now, he’s even without Batman. 

He hates that that makes any difference.

“He did? Was this before or after he mowed down -” She checks her notes “fifeteen cops?” 

Dick blinks. The green loose hospital gown slips awkwardly off his bruised shoulder. They’re looking at how bruised he is, taking it in. God, Batman is an idiot. Asking Dick to paint him the hero when he’s covered in the bastards bruises. 

“I think before” His voice is becoming shaky, it’s beginning to crack. “C-can I go now? I...I... don’t think I can talk about this” 

“Go?” The policewoman smiles.The room shifts “Kid… You’re the States now. You understand? You’ll talk to social about setting you up in a nice home with other kids just like you -” 

He’s going to throw up. His ears are ringing. Does Batman know? How will Batman find him if he’s in some upstate orphanage? He wants Batman to find him, he  _ needs _ Batman to find him. He can’t stand this fake concern. They don’t care about him, they don’t care about his parents, they’ll never find the killer. Only he can and Batman’s let him. He thinks of the costume he made, of that cold dark cave and that voice in his ear like gravel. 

Come on, come on, come on. 

Now way would he pull that stunt just to leave Grayson in a hospital. Or maybe this is a test. Some kind of horrible test. Maybe he needs to jump to his feet, pull out the IV and kick the ass of this cop, make a run for it and on the fall from the 25th story Batman will catch him, wrap him up in blackness and hatred and the heat of  _ war -  _

“Are you okay?”

Nope. He’s not. His head is spinning with it all. He needs something to ground him. 

_ A slap maybe?  _

He needs help. He should - no, he  _ does _ \- hate Batman. His knee begins to bounce, he worries his lip. 

“I understand you’re scared, I know you’re grieving. Do you need anything?” The cop is beginning to look confused. “Did…” She drops her voice. “Did he hurt you? You can tell me” 

Can he? Should he? His heart is in his throat, his hands are sweating. God, when was the last time his hands sweated? Not even the biggest of performances. 

This is the worst. This is the absolute worst. Batman should come, should save him before he starts talking again. Tears escape the sides of his eyes. 

The nurse who was pretending to look busy looks over at his choked back a sob. 

_ Don’t you dare cry you little snot.  _

“Richard?” 

No one calls him Richard. 

He’s losing his mind. His whole ass mind. Where is Batman.  _ He’s _ present and accounted for. He’s executed this plan perfectly. How long is he meant to lie around?

He picks the hospital band around his wrist. 

“Don’t pick that off” The nurse says. 

He nods a little. The cop is looking suspicious. This is bad. Maybe Batman put a microphone on him and is listening to him fuck this up. Maybe he’s angry, disappointed and now Dick will have to live the rest of his life in some nuclear family. Wasting away as his parents killer walks free. 

Fuck that. 

The cops radio crackles out words Dick doesn’t understand. 

“Shit…” She mutters. “The press are here, someone must have tipped them off” 

“I don’t mind speaking to the press!” 

They look at him, the nurse, the silent social worker, the cop. 

If his eyes light up as much as his mind does, he hopes it doesn’t give him away. 

Batman can’t possibly miss him setting the story street if he broadcasts it across every Gotham news channel. 

So he recites this perfect script, a little stiffly he must admit. His heart is in his stomach and all he can think of is Batman, of that cold cave, of getting out of here. He waits for a sign, tenses for an explosion. His eyes scan the crowd, the buildings. 

Nothing. 

_ Don’t you leave, don’t you dare leave me here you bastard.  _

“Okay, okay” A social worker grabs his forearm. “Mr. Grayson has had enough questions, he needs to rest” 

He must look out of it, blinking through the camera flashes, tugging against the grip trying to strain over the crowd.

_ Nonononono.  _

The crowd turns. 

Suddenly the camera’s are flashing more but not at Dick. They move like twinkling lights and from the lights comes a man. 

Not  _ Bat _ man. Just  _ A _ man. A handsome one at that. Dick’s cheeks flush a little at just how intensely he’s been stared at. 

“Mr. Wayne, Mr. Wayne -” Reporters are trying to grab his attention.

Bruce Wayne. 

Holy shit.

Billionaire Bruce Wayne is walking towards him. Forbes rich list Bruce Wayne. What on earth is he  _ doing _ here. Dick’s jaw just drops a little, he can smell the man’s cologne from 10 feet away. It makes his nose curl even if it makes his stomach warm. 

The sudden flashes blind Dick, the roar from the onlooking reporters. It’s overwhelming, it’s horrifying. Bruce stands and gives him a gentle smile before he turns to the media storm in front of him. 

He’s dead. He died. 

It wasn’t his parents, it was him. This is some twisted hell dream. Kidnapped by Batman, saved by Bruce Wayne. This is insanity. 

“Richard Grayson” 

That’s him. He blinks, looking up at the social worker who still has a tentative grip on his upper arm. She’s looking just as confused as him, maybe more confused and a little more than star struck.

“Lost everything. I saw it happen, I was there” He looks to Dick, blue eyes on blue. “That night I went to see a world class performance from a world class family. Instead I got a brutal reminder of how little this city has changed since I was a boy. I won’t stand for it. I won’t stand for this boy’s life to be ruined. So I’m doing something about it. I’m taking Dick Grayson as my ward. I won’t let another boy fall into a system that perpetuates -” 

The crowd erupts into questions, flashes. The social worker drops her grip entirely. Wayne is still talking over the crowds, shouting about lawyers, about rights about  _ wards _ . Dick knows what that is now. Maybe he can show off. Bruce understands, he went through the same thing. Maybe, just maybe, this will work out. Hope pricks at his skin like heat coming back to frozen fingers. Wayne could help maybe, solve the case, maybe he’d never have to see Batman again. 

Something is wrong. He’s got instinct like that, something innate. When he was eight years old he got this gut feeling and didn’t want to do this pelican catch but his parents had convinced him, he’d ended up with bad form and a dislocated shoulder. He’s got the same feeling now, this uncanny prickle at the back of his neck. 

Suddenly Wayne is beside him again, he suddenly gets a moment to look closer at those features, that jaw, that smile. It’s wrong, somehow. That face. He lifts his hand, as though he’s blocking the sun, covering half of Bruce’s face. 

Where- 

He’s pulled back into a hug. 

A chorus of ‘awes’. 

Dick Grayson tenses, shoulders bunching and hands up in some stilted form of surrender and then, in his hair, the side away from the camera’s. 

“Put your goddamn arms around me or I’ll break them, Punk” 

And just like that the whole world shatters for the third time in 48 hours. He tenses, a wave of indescribable emotion making him full body shudder. 

“You...You -” Are Bruce Wayne, wouldn’t dare break my arms, are a complete insufferable asshole and I hate you, are all reasonable things Dick wants to say but all he manages is; 

  
“Came back” 

His fingers dig into the material of the suit jacket, bunching it up as he shimmeys himself closer. He’s dizzy from overload, his head can’t wrap around any of this but it doesn’t matter, Bruce - Batman - has proved to him he doesn’t have to, he has a plan for everything, a plan for this. 

_ Trust him.  _

Hell no. What is this? Some Bat-themed mind fuckery Dick didn’t sign up for. He’s got fucking Stockholm syndrome, he’s going goddamn crazy. 

He hates this asshole, this billionaire asshole vigilante cop killer! 

But it doesn’t change the fact that he's now Dick Grayson’s legal guardian. 

  
  
  


“Were you scared?” 

He’s practicing high bar. His legs slide through his arms, back up and through to carry the momentum into a handstand. 

“A little” He gasps, trying to concentrate as he swaps his hands. He was scared, scared Bruce wouldn’t come for him, scared he’d have to do this all alone. But then again, that’s what Bruce wanted, right? He’s got him where he wants. 

The thought makes his hand slipped and he falls onto the mat below, feet only just catches even if his ankle twists awkwardly to try and stick the landing. 

“Impressive” 

He shoots him a pout, unsure if it’s sarcasm or genuine. He isn’t sure he can handle praise from him, it makes his skin crawl. He thinks he prefers being allowed to hate him, it stops any other feeling.

“How do you do it?” 

Okay, now he’s unnerved. Is he being patronized? He looks over, only to see that Bruce has stripped down to dress pants and is heading his way. Wrapping his hands, ready to spar. Oh god, with him? Dick shakes out his arms, jumping foot to foot.

“Have you  _ never _ seen the Olympics?” He snaps. “It’s pretty basic stuff-” 

His ear gets grabbed and he howls in surprise as Bruce pulls, almost lifting him off the ground. 

“Owowowowow! I’m sorry - I’m sorry -” He grabs at the forearm, trying in vain to pull it off. 

“Brat” He gets snarled at him. He rubs his ear but follows Bruce over to the sparring mat anyway. 

“Hey, Is no-one gonna question that Bruce Wayne the fuckboy just adopted a circus act?” 

“He was torn up over what happened to you” 

_ He  _ not  _ I.  _ He’s such a freakshow. Dick’s lip curls in confusion. 

“Okay. But is it, like, legal?”

He watches those back muscles ripple as Bruce begins to go to town on a punching bag. 

“Wrap your hands” 

Ignored, classic. He catches the tape thrown at him and wraps them slowly, watching Bruce as he does it. 

“Whenever you’re ready” 

Whenever he’s ready what? What’s he meant to do here. Bruce raises his fist and signals with the other for Dick to attack. 

Holy 100 to 1 odds. He was not gonna fight Batman. 

“Stare at me for another second, pretty boy and you’ll regret it” 

He steps forward, a little tentative. Bruce thinks he’s pretty? Maybe he’ll hold back on the face punches. Although he doesn’t like the idea of him getting more creative. 

He’s good at dodging Bruce’s attacks. That’s one thing he can say for certain. But he’s pretty shit at landing them. He’s backflipped and side stepped away from every blow thrown his way but his fists don’t get close to Batman. 

He goes in again, ducking, ducking, backflip and boom. He lands one on Bruce’s face, having to jump a little to reach and well, it hurts like hell. 

He stumbles back and clutches his fist, holding his now bleeding knuckles. 

“Ow…” 

Bruce comes at him and he holds up a weak hand in a desperate surrender but is on his back before he can breath. 

“You never punched before?” 

He shakes his head violently. 

A beat. 

Bruce sighs and offers a hand. He takes it as he sniffles. 

“Why did you punch me then?” 

“Because you asked me to spar with you!” He shrieks, irritated tears in his eyes. He feels humiliated. This whole thing is so stupid. 

“Play to your strengths. I’ll play to mine. You’re a gymnast. Think” 

“I’m actually an acrobat” He mutters before launching himself. He isn’t sure he’s ever been angry enough to see red until this exact moment. “If we wanna get specific I’m an  _ aerial  _ acrobat”

“Gymnasts use spring floors” He kicks up, Bruce blocks both his feet but only just. He uses the support of Bruce’s palms to launch himself into a backflip. He lands on one hand, using the impact to turn his weight he spins his legs down to trip Bruce up. “Do your research” 

Bruce jumps, missing his spin and tries to stomp down on Dick’s stomach to pin him. He launches himself back up into a handstand, pushing down, legs at a 90 degree angle. 

His feet imbed in Bruce’s throat and he hears a choked gasp, the stumble of feet. 

He lands, arms spread and turns, only to get a fist to the face. Blood fills his mouth, forcing him to gasp and cough.

  
He stumbles back. 

“Good” he gets, a little croaked. “Really good” 

Bruce’s voice is breathless and odd. It fills him with a desire he can’t place. Praise has always gone fast to his head but the words and the actions don’t match. He just punched Dick hard enough for his tooth to crack. Empty praise doesn’t ease the pain. 

“Again” 

So they go again, longer this time. Dick is angrier now his face is throbbing. Angry about his parents, angry about Bruce, angry about Jocko - boy, angry about being left at the hospital for all of half a day and angry at  _ himself _ for being angry at any of it. 

_ Laugh it off, Grayson, you’re a performer. Don’t let him see you crack. _

He gets Bruce on the ground, hooking his skinny arm around the tree trunk that is Bruce’s neck. No dice. His arms aren’t strong enough. So he hooks his leg around instead, the stretch easy and catches his calf, pulling it taunt. 

He gets a twitch and arms go to his thigh, trying to pull him off. This is an easy pose to hold and Dick just has to tense up to cut the flow off air. 

“Dick…” he hears, teeth gritted. 

The power rush takes him by surprise and he tightens the grip, his own breath harsh and fast. 

The mat gets pounded, he barely hears. His ears are ringing, his leg trembling. Tears in his eyes and he doesn’t even know why. 

“Grayson…” He hears again, weaker though. 

And then there is a hand in his hair, hauling him forward. He lets out a yelp of surprise, legs untangling. 

“Robin” He gets snarled in his ear. “Are you insane?” 

He can’t find his voice to answer, he coughs violently on the drying blood at the back of his throat, trying desperately to swallow. His scalp is aching, his nose crusty.

“I was just-” 

“Trying to kill me?” Bruce roars. 

_ Maybe.  _

“I’m sorry...” 

The grip is gone, silence as Bruce walks away, back towards that console where he sits as though Dick isn’t there at all. 

Ice creeps through his veins, if he hates getting hit, he hates being ignored more. He stalks up behind him, bare feet padding across the cold stone floor. He slings his arms across the chair, the tips of his fingers just brushing the edge of Bruce’s shoulders. His mouth feels dry all of a sudden. 

“I’m really sorry” He croaks.

“Go to bed” 

The shoulders tense a little. Dick knows the response. He’s seen and done some weird stuff in the circus, so weird he thinks it’s normal. He spins the chair round. Bruce stares him down, eyes cold. 

“Please… I didn’t mean to hurt you -” 

He reaches out. Bruce catches his arm before it lands on his cheek. He flinches instinctively. 

“What’re you doing, punk?” 

He slides onto Bruce’s lap. Smile demure, he tilts his head, eyes half closed. He leans closer, till his lips, plush and blushed but crusty with dried blood, brush against Bruce’s. He’s trembling much harder than he should be, than he ever has before. 

_ Just perform.  _

“It’s okay, y’know...I’ve done this before-” He tries desperately to come off as cocky.   
  


That seems to anger Bruce even more. The punch sends him tumbling to the floor. He feels the skin rip on his bare arms where he skids. 

“What the hell?” He snaps, trying to stand but only serving to unbalance himself more, he falls back down onto the concrete. 

“You’re a sick twisted little fuck you know that?” Bruce snarls. 

“I wasn’t - I didn’t -” Dick gapes. 

_ I just wanted to please you, I just wanted you not to hurt me.  _

“Get out” Batman is back, growling the words in a way that makes Dick toes curl. 

The air feels charged, like backstage just before a show. Something is gonna break, like a storm. Dick can feel the static on his tongue. 

Those oversized silk PJ’s are still laying where he left them, folded a lot neater though. That English dude, he’s something else.

“You gonna show me the upstairs or am I sleeping on the floor again?” He teases softly, sliding of those pixie boots. His heels are torn to shreds, the don’t quite fit probably and all that jumping and kicking has given him a bad case of blisters. 

He winces. Bruce luckily doesn’t see. 

The shirt feels good on his extensively bruised torso. He doesn’t do it up, mostly to test Bruce. 

“If it’s a matter of space” He says softly, coming closer. His bare feet pitter pattering across the exposed stone, his heart hammers, he’s unsure why he’s so desperate to push. “Y’know I could share with you” 

The gauntlet to the face shouldn’t surprise him as much as it should. 

“God damn it!” He shrieks, clutching his nose. It begins to pour red again. “You’re insane” 

Bruce rounds on him, hauls him fully off the ground by his shirt. 

“No  _ you _ are, you stupid little  _ bitch _ . You know how many hot lays I’ve had? You know how many super models I’ve fucked the brains out of? You think I’d waste half a fucking breath on a little snot like you? Huh?” 

The pain somehow makes the clarity of his thoughts horribly sharp. 

Oh.  _ Oh. _

“I think” Dick begins, his voice is croaky, clogged with blood. “I think you like me a hell of a lot more than you’ve -” He coughs. His vision is going funny and his ears are ringing louder than anything he’s ever heard. “ _ Ever _ liked them”

He giggles just a little, it makes the blood bubble out between the gap in his two front teeth. 

“ I think that scares the ever living  _ shit  _ out of you,  _ Batman _ ” 

His foot comes up, delicate and soft and oh so flexible, and slides over the material of his slacks. It’s not hard to feel the outline of Bruce’s  _ aching _ cock through them. 

He laughs then, weak but manic. He throws his head back, glee and euphoria over taking him for the first time since this all started. 

_ Got him.  _

His face becomes well acquainted with the ground under it. 

And the world goes blissfully black. 

  
  
  


He wakes up to a mission and nothing else. No ounce of recognitions of his feelings, no nothing. 

He really doesn’t mean to take it out on that Hal guy. He really doesn’t. Nor does he expect his own body to crack a whole ass wall. 

Bruce just stares as they leave Jordan stable, breathing. 

  
  
  


The wind is howling and the rain hits against his bare arms like little bullets, pulling the yellow paint off his skin, his clothes. His throat is aching and his nose is running. Any attempt to speak chokes off into more sobs. 

He doesn’t know what to make of being brought here. Doesn’t know what to make of how much time must have passed...or consider how shallow those graves must be. 

He can’t bring himself to look at the headstones anymore. He can’t do it. 

He can’t bare to see those names. 

So he hides in the warmth of the cape instead, heavy but sturdy, it keeps the wind off his face at least. 

“You’re okay…” He gets whispered, harsh in his ear. 

No he isn’t. He almost killed that dude. He  _ wanted _ to kill that dude just like he wanted to kill Bruce when they spared. This creature had bubbled up inside him, pushed his heart and lungs up his throat and filled him with this unquenchable rage. 

“Do you feel it too?” He gasps, his throat closing almost instantly. “That-that feeling…That rage. I know, I know that Lantern guy didn’t kill my-my parents...” 

He can’t articulate, he almost expects a response; something biting and harsh, something that cuts into his already bleeding heart. 

Bruce just sighs, shaky and quiet. If Dick presses his head harder against that armour he can just about hear the steady beat of the heart. 

“Everytime” 

Dick pulls back, his soaked gloves sliding over the mask, feeling the points of the ears, the smooth kevlar, the lip where it gives to skin and then down, his index finger trails along the seam of his lips. It’s like petting a bear, Dick thinks and cracks a small smile, even if it bursts his lip. 

Bruce isn’t stopping him, isn’t  _ hurting  _ him. 

“What stops you?” His voice had dropped to a whisper. He’d be surprised if Bruce could hear him over the rain. 

A large, harsh hand, blood stained - with  _ Dick’s _ blood - cups his cheek. 

“I don’t know. All these years, all those people…” Bruce’s grip tightens just a little. “Any one of them could’ve pushed me over the edge” 

Dick’s aching skull protests and he can’t help but pound a hand into Bruce’s chest. 

  
“Then why the hell did you  _ stop  _ me?!” 

His other hand is caught before it lands, cradling by a fist that could snap his wrist. Dick wonders for a moment if he will. He braces just in case. 

What happens is actually worse. Bruce sounds broken, so soft and so gentle and so  _ awfully _ not himself. 

“You’re no killer, Dick. I’ve watched you, I know” 

“Maybe I was harsh on you” He says. “As harsh on you as I am on myself...Maybe you didn’t deserve that and maybe I was harsh because I…” 

Dick sits up, feels his body creak like he’s 90 or something. He knees splash in the mud. 

“Because you’re right” Bruce’s voice is like gravel, so low and rough it tumbles across Dick like a heavy wave. “About how I feel about you” 

His hand, clad in armour used to break noses, strokes across Dick’s smooth check, wipes away the tears ever-so-softly.

Dick’s heart thunders against his adam’s apple. He can’t breath, can’t think. 

“I’ve felt about you for a long time” 

That soft growl is almost hypnotic. 

“You’re such a beautiful boy…” 

Wait a minute. 

“What?” He manages to breath. 

Bruce snaps out of whatever musing he began, pulling his hand back like Dick is hellfire. 

“You said you felt about me for a long time...You were at the circus but…” 

Bruce shifts. 

“I’ve had my eye on you for a while” 

Dick lets the words set in. 

“So you knew” He gasps, feeling frantic again, panicked. 

Bruce shakes his head. 

“You knew- You  _ knew _ didn’t you?!” He shouts. Sitting up he slams his fist into Bruce’s chest. 

“I didn’t  _ know,  _ Dick - I swear - “ 

“You wanted them to die, I bet you did, I bet you planned the whole thing. Fuck you! And fuck your stupid identity. You  _ knew _ and you let it happen. You let it happen and you let me fall for you and made me eat  _ rats -”  _

His shrieks are out of control now and his words just a garbled mess. 

“Shut the  _ fuck _ up” A hand comes across his mouth just mid breath and he’s thrown back against the wet mud. Bruce’s monstrous weight over him. He wants to die, to explode, it feels like hundreds of little birds -  _ little robins -  _ are scratching just under his skin, under his ribs, desperate to escape, desperate to break free. 

“I hate you” he wails against the palm, expending the last bit of air he has. 

Suddenly the tears are back in his eyes, his mouth drops open as if to scream but no noise can come out. His body gives, exhaustion, hunger, emotional burnout causes him to shut down. 

Bruce catches him, hand coming away from his mouth. To pull him back up into an awkward hug.

“Easy, easy” 

He punches again, weak and thoughtless at the armour under him. Punches until his knuckles break, till the rain washes the blood away, till it bleeds again. 

Until Bruce catches his fist with a soft and  _ awful _ sympathy. 

“I hate you...” he whispers and through the heavy rain he doubts Bruce even hears. 

“Let’s take you home” 

Home. 

What a joke. 

  
  
  


The don’t speak the whole way. Dick just shudders, sniffles and curls in on himself as the passing street lights and cat’s eyes paint him a myriad of colours. 

Bruce is brooding, grinding his teeth and casting side eyes at Dick’s frame every so often until finally Dick gives in. 

“What are you thinking?” 

“Don’t know what you mean, brat” 

He rolls his eyes. 

“I’m freezing. Give me your cape or something” He has to keep talking, keep talking or cry again. He feels Bruce’s moment of kindness may be over, he doesn’t want another hit. God his whole face hurts so much. “Bruce Wayne is meant to be a gentleman isn’t he? Takes hot dames out all the time. Extend the kindness to me, Lend a boy your cape for gods-” 

“Shut up, Dick” 

Something about the way he says his name. He hates it. God he prefers Robin, he hates the idea that this is personal (except he doesn’t  _ hate  _ hate , that’s the issue) He looks over to Bruce again. All that muscle, all the strength, all that charm. For everyone except him.

He flushes, looking away. 

They speed into the cave and as the engine cools and Dick reaches for the door, Bruce grabs his wrist. He yelps before he can help it. 

“Quiet” Bruce snaps. “I need you to know. I didn’t mean for this to happen to you.” His thumb moves soft circles. “I was interested in your ability, I won’t deny it…” He shakes his head. “I was interested in more than your ability” He admits. “But what happened to your parents...I didn’t know and it was awful and it  _ reminded  _ me of my past and I...” 

“Bruce I-” 

“But you also need to know...I can’t bring myself to cross this line with you. That’s why I’ve lashed out because if I don’t push you away then god…I don’t know if I could stop myself” 

Dick chuckles. 

“This funny to you, Grayson?” 

“You’re pathetic” He smiles. “A pathetic fucking coward. This is the line you  _ choose _ not to cross. Fuck you” 

He flinches instinctively but nothing comes. It leaves him empty. Bruce is staring off into nowhere, breath heavy through his nose. 

Dick crawls over the gear stick. 

“You think you’re saving me? You’re not. I think my life has already been irrevocably ruined. I think sucking your  _ cock _ isn’t really gonna ruin anything except my gag reflex” 

“Your vulgar-” 

“Suck it,  _ batman.  _ I don’t care” 

The fight leaves him suddenly and he falls back against the passenger seat with a huff. 

“Just give me this, give me this  _ one _ thing” 

Bruce just shakes his head. Like he’s a dumb kid who doesn’t get it. 

“You think we’re the same” He murmurs, ignoring the cynicism. 

He picks his nails. “But we’re not at all...You’ve always had this” he motions to the car, the cave, the mansion above it. “Y’know? Like a huge house n stuff...and-” 

Shit he’s gonna cry. Different from before, nowhere near as wailing or desperate. Sniffling and soft and  _ childish.  _

“Like you had....Your parents  _ and _ this and I-” He tips his head back, feeling the tears trail back into his hairline. “I only ever had them, my life, my  _ job _ , my teachers… I’ve got  _ nothing. _ ” 

Bruce is silent for a bit. 

“Except you now” 

“All I’ve got is  _ you.  _ So I don’t care about your  _ morals _ or your  _ line _ . You threw me into your mess, I’m sorry If I’m throwing you into mine” His grin is sneer and Bruce seems to grimace at what it does to his face. 

“You are a fucked little kid, You know that?” 

He gets out of the car but standing is a mistake, his head spins and nausea overtakes him. He wretches, clutching the sleek exterior of the car, with clammy palms. 

Those huge hands clutch his shoulders, stabilising him. 

He glares. 

“What?” 

Bruce’s face is impossible to read but his eyebrow twitches half way towards a frown before he bends to one knee. 

“Come to bed with me” 

Dick’s eyes widen, soft lips parting. 

“Oh” 

He needs an arm around his upper arm the whole way up the lift, through the goddamn  _ secret door _ . 

“Neat” He mumbles. 

He shuddering and soaked like a wet cat. His hair is beginning to dry off, silky black strands still dripping the occasional raindrop down his nose. 

The old wood is warm and inviting, the double staircase is something  _ else.  _ And the bedroom is unlike anything Dick’s ever seen. 

“I…” 

“You’re frozen” Bruce interrupts, throwing a shirt that smacks him in the face. Bruce’s lip curls. 

“You sleep here?” 

Bruce looks over at him. 

“Sometimes. Your lips are blue” Bruce has begun to light a fire in the massive fireplace. 

_ Not just for show.  _

“I’ve never uh, circus...travelling, y’know, I...it was mostly cots...I’d share with my parents sometimes I’d…” 

Bruce towers over him, looks over him. 

Dick’s voice breaks. 

“Kiss me” 

Bruce’s jaw clenches, his eyes flickering shut. 

“I just need to forget...I can’t close my eyes and not see their faces-” 

“I know” Bruce cuts him off. “Trust me, I know, Brat” 

He drops out of the stupid uniform, cape and mask and all of it. 

He slides his hands over Bruce’s shoulders and up to his shoulders. Arm’s slide around his waist in response.

“You can pretend I’m a chick if you want” Dick leans up on his tip-toes, fingers sliding ever so softly over the masked half of Bruce’s face and then down, tracing his lips, the sharpness of his nose, the stubble on his jaw. Fascinated, he explores, and Bruce doesn’t hit him, or shove him off or dislocated his arm and then pull his nose off his face like he expects. 

“I must be about the same size, the same weight” He rubs against Bruce, kicks his leg up and straight so it sits on Bruce’s shoulder in a standing split. 

“Oh, Mr. Wayne” he feigns, tips his head back and covers his face. “Or-” he grins. “Should I call you Batman? Would that get you off easier?” 

“Is this your defence mechanism, kid?” 

He blanches, drops his leg and steps back a little just to be bracketed by Bruce, thrown onto the bed and climbed on top off. 

“You pushed me” 

He hears belts and clips as he’s held down, palm spread across the back of his skull as he buried in the sheets. 

“You want me to just fuck into you  _ raw _ like I would with a chick. Rip you apart? You wouldn’t be able to walk for  _ weeks _ .” 

“Lemme-” 

“Go? I thought you wanted me, wanted this, you stupid  _ kid”  _

He feels something hot and  _ hard _ against his briefs and he chokes back a surprised,  _ terrified _ , sob. 

“Please don’t…please” 

The pressure is gone, the weight too. 

“You couldn’t take me on my kindest days, kid. Don’t push for shit you don’t understand” 

He sits up, ruffled and breathing hard. 

“Don’t go!” He blurts. 

Bruce’s nose curls. 

“Jesus, that didn’t scare you?!” 

Dick pulls the sheet around himself and Bruce’s eyes flicker over the skin. He remembers the performance night. That flawlessly creature that defied gravity. 

He looks at that same creature now, bruise across his nose, dark and purple and  _ ugly _ . Blue eyes fast losing that sparkle. Body yellow with a mess of untreated wounds. 

_ You did that to him.  _

_ You broke him. Just like you broke yourself.  _

He sits down on the bed and takes his foot into his hand. Dick’s hands tighten on the sheets. 

His palm is the same size as the kids foot, His toes touch Bruce’s fingers. 

“Tho-those stupid pixie boots are-are sore” 

He rubs circles into the soul, across the pads, the toes. He does it to birds all the time when they’re being uppity about fucking. 

Dick’s grip loosens softly, a little sigh fluttering between his pouty lips. 

“You designed the outfit you chump” 

He squeezes against a knot. 

“Please” He sits up, arm gently touching Bruce’s bicep. “Just...Just kiss me”

The line is beginning to waver, shift like a heat mirage. 

“We don’t have to do anything else” Dick murmurs, quiet, without that bravado, that cheer, he so easily affects. 

Maybe they’re both good at hiding. 

“Okay” Bruce gives in. 

He drops a soft kiss to the inside of his ankle and Dick falls back on his elbows. Another on the back of his knee and a third on the inside of his thigh. 

Dick groans, breathes, shuddery and weak. 

Bruce just continues, continues across a tensing stomach up to a blackened shoulder, dark with bruises. He can be just as careful as he is brutal, Dick realises and it drives him  _ wild _ . 

He grabs Bruce’s cheeks, pulls him close, squishing them together ever so softly. 

“No more girls” 

Bruce looks amused in a dangerous kind of way. It’s like poking a bear but then again, Dick use to throw boiled sweets at lions as a kid until tamers shooed him away. 

“Just me” 

Bruce growls. Just like a lion. Dick can’t help but giggle. 

“I’m your steward or whatever-” 

“Ward” 

“You  _ owe _ me” He interjects. 

“Jesus” Bruce snarls. “You’re the worst mistake of my life” 

His words die in a puff as their lips meet. Dick arches, surprised by the feeling, the intensity. He trembles full bodied and curls his toes against the sheets. Bruce kisses with practice, ease, disarms him. 

Dick sees  _ stars. _

“Oh…” He says softly when they part, connected by a line of saliva he should be put off by.

The warm glow of the fire casts them in softer colours than the neon of the cave, the grit of Gotham. 

“You’re so goddamn pretty” Bruce groans brokenly. “Damnit” 

He doesn’t even have a chance to respond before Bruce is back on his lips, less gentle, more desperate, taking rather than giving, eating up Dick like he’s his last supper. 

_ May as well be  _

His hands are everywhere and nowhere, crawling and landscaping Dick’s body. Dick eyes fly open as teeth close softly around his earlobe, before they fall half shut as he digs his hands into Bruce’s hair. 

He’s gone. He’s fully gone. Whatever half doubts he felt in the hospital, whatever desire to escape. The fight has left him, it’s left Bruce too. 

They’re both as screwed as each other. 

“You ruined me” They whisper in unison. 

Blue on blue, shock on shock. 

Dick’s shock slips into an easy smile, a soft giggle he shifts down Bruce’s body a little, wrapping his arms around that thick neck and hanging softly. Bruce’s sets into a nasty sneer. 

They kiss more, harder, longer, until Dick is grinding helplessly against Bruce’s thigh he struggles to even straddle.

“Fuck me-” 

“No fucking way” 

“You’re scared-” 

“Damn straight” 

“Scared it’ll feel too good” 

“Precocious little shit” 

Dick just smiles softly. 

“This your revenge, kid?” Bruce asks weakly, allowing Dick to roll him onto his back, letting him settle on his chest. Dick maps the scars with his index finger. 

“Maybe” He murmurs softly before he leans down. “Or maybe I’m in love with you” 

His expression is so earnest and open, huge cobalt eyes, sharp little pixie face. 

“Don’t talk shit” 

“I’m not” Dick grins and pulls back. Holding a bottle of lube in his little thin fingers. “Just distracting you” 

Bruce grins, sharp and feral. 

“You learn fast” 

“Or you’re getting slow” 

He uncaps it and slides down his shorts with as much confidence as he can fake. Bruce is watching him, hawk like. 

He tries to make a show of it but he can’t. He’s too aroused and too inexperienced. 

“Jesus” Bruce snarls. “This is fucking pathetic to watch” 

He plucks the lube out of Dick’s wet fingers and shoves him back as he shouts a protest. 

“You need to relax a hell of a lot if you want this to work” 

“Like I'd  _ ever _ relax around you” He says, thighs shaking. 

Bruce just laughs.

He brace’s, expects the pain he heard others talk about but Bruce -  _ the same man who threw him so hard against a wall he broke the plaster -  _ is being gentle. Gentle enough that it’s only uncomfortable, at first. 

After fifteen minutes, Dick watches the huge grandfather cloak on the wall, before he begins to grind against the sheets. 

“I’m ready” he begs. 

“Kid that’s half my index” 

He flushes in embarrassment. 

“Fuck you” 

“Believe me I’m trying” 

“ _ You’re _ the international playboy” 

Bruce thrusts to the hilt of his finger and curls mercilessly. Dick cries out, fingers scraping at the sheets helplessly as his jaw drops. 

“Happy now, Brat?” 

He nods a little as Bruce thrusts easily, wetly. He can almost pretend for a moment that he’s some beautiful supermodel not covered head to toe in bruises and allowing the man who inflicted them to take his virginity. 

“Bruce…” he sighs breathily. 

“God you beautiful thing” 

It sends an insidious rush of heat through him. He thrusts back lightly. 

“I’d do anything to fucking bury myself in you” 

“But you won’t” Dick whines softly, unsure if he’s happy or not about it. 

“No” Bruce agrees. “I won’t” 

One finger becomes two and Dick desperately holds back from touching himself in the hope Bruce will change his mind or snap. 

He will, he realises, from the intense grip on his thigh, from how strained Bruce’s breath is. 

Glee rushes through him. 

“Please” he tries again. 

“No” 

“ _ Please”  _

“I’ll hurt you. I’ll hurt you bad” 

Dick laughs, harsh and out of control. 

“Believe me it won’t be as bad as what you’ve already done” 

_ Leaving me that first night, in that cold cave, the bats and my thoughts the only thing for company, I wanted to end myself.  _

_ I’d never felt despair like it.  _

“You don’t know the things you put me through” 

Bruce looks at him the same way he did after they saved that lantern dude. Fear and awe in his eyes, this ‘what have I created’ look across his features. 

“Look at me” 

Bruce does and he looks wrecked, wrecked by  _ him.  _

He straddles Bruce’s lap and sits slowly, holds Bruce’s cock with his fist as he guides himself down. 

He feels like he’s being torn apart. 

“Dick…” 

He can count on his hand the amount of times he’s actually said his name, it makes him feel wanted,  _ desired _ . 

Tears prick the sides of his eyes from how much it stings but it eases some weight in his chest, something unlocks. 

“Bruce” He says. “Bruce Wayne” 

He can’t help but feel the name around his tongue. 

‘Millionaire playboy takes in pre-teen as sex slave’ 

He sees the headlines, sees himself recount the story and for whatever instant sense of glee he feels from it fades as he sees Bruce’s eyes, the adoration there, unbridled for a moment. His features are soft and sweet without the mask, without any of them. Earnest and true. 

“I’m always gonna be here for you” he says softly. “I promise” 

Bruce thrusts, unable not too. 

  
“Shit I’m sorry” He gasps, trying to hold back. 

The tears slip down his cheeks. 

“Ah- It’s- It’s fine” Dick strokes his cheeks, his hair, his neck. “It’s okay” 

Bruce looks at him, confusion across his features. 

“It’s all okay” 

He buries his head in Dick’s shoulder, body enveloping his small frame. He didn’t notice how he’d settled at the base of Bruce’s cock. He hugs him tight as he thrusts, desperate and  _ trembling _ . 

He never looked past Bruce’s desire to give Dick justice, never looked past and saw what this was. The desire, the need to share yourself wholly with someone you can trust before you go  _ mad.  _

Dick just prays he’s not too little too late. 

He tries to even his breath as he strokes the hair at the nape of Bruce’s neck. 

“You beautiful creature...God I don’t deserve you. I fucked a girl that first night, just to get the taste of you out my mind before I snapped and brought you up here then and there. I couldn’t bare to be around you” 

Dick gasps, blinking as he tries not to moan. 

He nuzzles softly at his cheek until he turns his head. His head buzzes with the confession. 

“I was scared” He says softly as Bruce begins to thrust harsher. “That day in the hospital. I wanted to come back to you, I needed you…” 

“I need you, Bruce” He murmurs, tears making his voice hiccup. “I need you” 

It feels good to say, like some kind of catharsis. An anagnorisis to his story. 

“I’ve got you, kid” His hand rubs his back even as he begins to thrust in earnest. “I’ve got you” 

It hurts a little, burns a bit but the words are too much. His skin was on fire, his mind is gone. 

Bruce lifts and thrusts into him, times himself, holds him up effortlessly. Dick can only scream from the feeling of being this whole, this desired and wanted. 

They kiss, messy and desperate and full of emotion neither know how to say. 

“Kid I’m so close, God you’re so fucking tight” 

“Please ...Please I can take it-” 

“I can’t” Bruce murmurs brokenly and he only just manages to pull out before he’s covering Dick’s thighs in white. 

“God” He breaths, huge chest expanding under Dick’s fingers. 

Dick just shudders and falls back, eyes fluttering as Bruce slides a finger back inside him, rubbing over that spot he brushed with his cock with renowned intensity. His other hand cover his own. 

Dick tenses, whole body coiled and unprepared for just  _ how good _ it can feel. He whites out, vision blurring, voice breaking, whole body shuddering so violently he can barely breath. 

“Oh...I....” 

Bruce strokes his hair, his face, down his chest. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeesh…” Dick breathes out. 

“God I’m…” Bruce tries. 

“Don’t”’ Dick snaps, breathless but still harsh. “Just ...don’t” 

Bruce nods. 

“I’m staying here tonight” He snaps. “I’m not sleeping in that cave again. You’re gonna hold me okay?” 

_ Don’t let me think about the pain again. Don’t let me think about them again.  _

Bruce just nods as they slide under the huge duvet. He slides onto Bruce’s chest, feeling the rise and fall. 

“You’re a demanding little bitch, you know that?” He hears just as his heavy eyes close. 

“And you’re an insane psycho” He mutters. 

The pain will return in the morning. Dick knows, he knows it’ll be there for Bruce too. 

But it scares him a little less now, tucked against this lion he’s begun to tame, he feels for just a moment, a sense of hope. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone else notice how weird it was that Bruce said to Viki Vale 'I've had my eye on him for a while' ? that was really odd to me...


End file.
